


Stiles’s Lessons

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Everyone but STEREK is only mentioned, Kissing Lessons, M/M, sterek, stiles totally had a crush on danny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24390319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Derek teaches Stiles how to kiss.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 153





	Stiles’s Lessons

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” Derek obnoxiously asked, turning to look at Stiles from the kitchen. Apparently, no one has ever told Derek that repeating a question does not, in fact, change the answer. 

It’s Friday night in Derek’s apartment. Well, technically, Saturday morning since it was actually 12:43 am. A universally famous pack night where they talk shit, discuss things that go bump in the night, eat, and watch movies. It’s the highlight of every fortnight. 

Life was easier now. After Gerard and everything that Stiles had once only imagined for his nightmares, Derek suggested (read: demanded) that the two packs start meeting for communication. And tentatively, after a long and awkward journey, the two packs became one. 

Stiles loved Scott, but god, would things have sailed smoother if he hadn’t decided to become a double agent. Scott could probably wreck the earth into two, and Stiles would stand by his side. Partially because Stiles knew he was a stubborn idiot, the curse of a Taurus, but also because sandbox love never dies.

(Stiles made Scott watch Jennifer’s Body with him, if not Star Wars. Stiles knew that it was only because of Amanda Seyfried and Megan Fox, but hey, an olive branch is an olive branch. Even when it’s coated in teenage lust.)

“No,” Stiles groans, finding a sudden interest in the pillows cover pattern, teal blue sheets with thin white plaid stripes. Stiles had always liked them anyway, he picked them out himself. 

Somewhere around the third and fourth pack meeting, Stiles had decided that living in the remnants of the Hale house was horrid, unfavorable, and gross. Derek, Isaac, and now Peter (which ew, also gross), were made to move into a three bedroom apartment downtown. 

They invited Stiles along to buy new furniture (read: they = Stiles). But oh, one can only distract themself for so long.

“I haven’t.” The blush on Stiles’s face hopefully symbolizes that he wishes the conversation to end. Then again, Derek never has been the best as reading symbols and social cues. 

“But, at your age, I had already kissed a good amount of people.” Derek states. Not saying it to be mean, because he’s never truly mean to his packmates, but the words come out in a mocking tone.

Stiles should really start not being the last one to leave at pack meetings. Goddamn Isaac and his sleepovers with Scott, and Peter’s random disappearances. 

Actually, Stiles wasn’t sure if company would make this less or more embarrassing. Peter would probably make a crude joke, and Stiles didn’t even completely trust him anyway.

“Okay but, you’re- I mean look at yourself! You’re walking sex, dude.” Stiles retorts, and then blushes when he realizes he inadvertently calls Derek hot. When he looks up to see Derek making his way over to the couch, Stiles surprisingly sees a small flush across Derek’s cheeks too.

It’s kind of really cute. Stiles wasn’t stupid, and even if he was, he had access to a computer. Stiles had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t completely straight long ago. He knew he played for two teams.

Probably still a benchwarmer on both of them. 

Lydia had always been beautiful, and he liked the way her strawberry blonde hair looked soft and the way she dressed and the fullness of her lips.

But when Danny Mahealani came out in the seventh grade, Stiles had also started to notice that he liked the way Danny smiled, and how strong he was. And after lacrosse, Danny always raised the bottom of his shirt to wipe his sweat off his forehead. Danny’s midriff showed and-

“You’re not bad, though. And not unattractive. I-I mean I'd expect action from you?” Derek stutters, yes Derek Hale, actually stutters, crimson grazing his cheeks. The blush is more prominent now.

Stiles’s still blushing furiously, but the drapes of a smile probably begin to show on his lips. Contrary to popular belief, Stiles wasn’t completely hated by society. His old friend, Heather, admitted she had a crush on him in elementary school. And at Harley’s birthday party freshman year, a couple of her friends asked him to join their Spin the Bottle game. Stiles declined. 

“I guess it’s kinda because- and don't make fun of me.” Stiles says, looking at Derek. The eye contact is strong, and despite how they always banter, Derek stops, knowing Stiles is serious. It’s shocking, and something shakes in Stiles’ core, because something feels different about this conversation, other than the utter humiliation. Stiles can’t quite put his finger on it.

“I guess, since it's my first kiss and all, I don't want to be bad at it. You can't redo those.” Stiles had always secretly been a sucker for those Hallmark movie romance moments. 

“Everyone’s bad at it the first time.” Derek reasons. 

“I know,” Stiles continues. “ But I’m just worried I won’t know how, and they’ll think I’m terrible, and it’ll be all awkward. It’ll be all tingly and weird, and, and-”

“What if we practiced?” Derek cuts in.

“What?” Stiles grips the coach cushion under him, fiddling his fingers above and under. They dance around the covers. 

“I mean, I could show you how to kiss. I mean I am sort of the mademoiselle bomb-ass at kissing, your words, not mine. But not if you don’t want to. Or if it would make you uncomfortable.” Derek explains. Stiles kind of likes this stuttering Derek. It’s a nice change for Stiles not to be the one talking his pants off. He stays silent. “Yeah you don-”

Stiles reddens, and cuts him off. “I do.”

“What?” 

“I want to,” Stiles answers, tearing his eyes away from Derek’s gaze. 

“Oh, okay!” Derek exclaims. He takes off his leather jacket, and for a moment neither of them know who should move first. Stiles slightly wonders if this is all a joke, and some camera crew will come out and laugh at him. Or Erica. 

Stiles’s blush gets redder, an action he hadn't known possible, and he scoots towards Derek.

“Oh. Oh! Okay so, first you’d wanna put a hand on their cheek. It romanticizes the moment you know?” Derek explains. Stiles notes the usage of the pronoun “they”, and not “she”. Stiles puts that fact in his mental “let’s freak out about that at three am” box. 

“Mmhm. Thanks for the words of wisdom, Yoda.” Stiles agrees. It’d be a lie to say Stiles completely registered what Derek told him though, his gaze training on Derek’s moving lips. Derek puts a hand on Stile’s cheek. The touch is firm and warm.

“Come in slowly. Make sure they’re okay with it, and they know what you’re doing.” Derek looks at Stiles for reapproval. Stiles pretends to think about it, and nods. Derek leans in. The world stops, and Derek Tyler Hale’s lips and Miecyzlaw Dylan Stilinski’s lips meet.

Hot. Damn.

Warm steady lips, with a taste of salt. For a moment, Stiles’ actually not living. He is dead, not from kanimas or hunters or werewolves, but at the hands of Derek Hale. Goddamn, his father was right. For a moment, Stiles is floating. Derek’s lips start moving, and Stiles’s follow right after. 

And it feels good. Really good. Fuck all that “it will suck the first time” bullshit. But Derek’s lips break away all too soon. The soft tinge still lingers, and Stiles looks at Derek in awe.

Who knew, after years of pondering from his dad, his friends, classmates, and teachers, the true way to shut Stiles up.

“So, your first kiss. Any good?” Derek laughs, and Stiles hates how put together Derek seems somehow. There’s an unknown passion and emotion sparkling in Derek’s expression, exposed by his eyes. Stiles will think about that later.

“I see what all the fuss was about.” Stiles says, doe eyes still widened.

Derek clears his throat and starts to rise up to move away, but Stiles’s limbs move before his brain does, for probably the hundredth time this year; an arm, his arm, reaches out to pull Derek back down.

This time it’s faster, and Derek let’s his hands out into Stiles’s hair. Thank god and everything else in this world that Stiles listened to Lydia and grew his hair out. Derek leans down on top of Stiles and their lips almost fight. 

Somehow the kiss is still steady. This time, Stiles isn’t floating. He’s falling. Into a trap, a hole, or in love. He’s not too sure if it’s one, or all three at once. Stiles can’t find it in him to care. The world was only them, the world is them.

Derek’s stubble brushes against him, and Derek’s moves slowly, and his tongue finds his way between Derek’s lips. Stiles is curious, and moves fast and both his heart and lips go around and around. Derek’s hands rest on Stiles’s hips. His fingers are fiddling the bottom of Stiles’s flannel, hinting at pulling it off, but mostly holding Stiles down. Holy fuck is that hot.

Then suddenly Stiles moves his leg to wrap around Derek’ waist, but falls off the couch, consequently pulling Derek down with him.

“Ouch.”

“Fuck!”

And suddenly the two are out of their little bubble of their own world, and back to the real one. Realizations strike, and both their eyes widen.

Stiles kissed Derek. Then made out with Derek. And liked it. And Stiles realizes that maybe he didn’t make the decision to kiss Derek because he wanted to learn how to kiss.

Shit.


End file.
